


Living : being free of everything – but each other.

by lunadesangre



Series: Little Miracles [21]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-12
Updated: 2010-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunadesangre/pseuds/lunadesangre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out in the real world, on the run – exploring. Jungles, old Maya temples, each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living : being free of everything – but each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Pretend there's _one_ Maya pyramid mostly unexplored and _not_ clustered by tourists and guards out there. Right? Right.

There _has_ to be at least five or six hundreds steps, Miguel is sure of it. They’ve left their bags in a bush at the bottom, and Ryan is climbing those fucking stairs with all the eager grace of an hyperactive little kid that finally got to the place he’d dreamt of seeing for years and years. Which, given all those travel magazines he used to read in Oz, is probably a comparison more accurate that Ryan would ever admit. It makes Miguel grin.

Ryan positively _bounces_ on the last step. Then he turns around in a full circle, taking it all in, smiling wide and full and more brilliantly than the fucking sun, green eyes shining as Miguel finally catches up with him, slipping an arm around his waist as Ryan keeps turning to look at everything, as if the landscape - all blue sky and emerald green tree tops, catching all the colors in Ryan’s eyes - would disappear if he stopped. Miguel slips his other arm around Ryan from behind and pulls him tight against him, turning with him, but eyes closed, lips half parted against Ryan’s neck, right below his jaw where Ryan’s pulse is fluttering. Miguel can’t seem to catch his breath, and he’s sure it doesn’t actually has much to do with all those fucking steps.

From Oz to a fucking Maya temple. Just the two of them and forgotten heaps of stone deep in a jungle. Jesus fucking _Christ_.

He only opens his eyes when Ryan gently tugs on his arms to loosen Miguel’s grip, but Ryan doesn’t go anywhere, just shifts until they’re pressed front to front, face to face, foreheads touching. There’s not even a hint of darkness left in Ryan’s smile, in Ryan’s eyes, just pure unbridled joy and something very soft and breathless. Miguel can’t look away.

There’s no words, just mouths and lips and tongues and clutching each other tighter, and grins and almost giddy laughing sighs that keep getting in the way. Miguel’s almost sure he’s going to wake up any second now, in his fucking tiny grey cell - but Ryan bites his lower lip hard enough to wake him, as if he knows exactly what Miguel is thinking, fingers clutching at the back of his neck and in his hair, body warm and real and here in Miguel’s arms.

Funny, he thinks - slipping both hands in the back of Ryan’s pants, inside his underwear to cup his ass and _squeeze_ , earning himself a little strangled laughing moan reverberating in his own mouth - he never believed miracles could happen to _him_.

As it is, he’s _out_ , and probably about to fuck his manipulative, handsome devil of an Irish lover on top of a Maya pyramid in the middle of a jungle.

He should send Busmalis a postcard - though Ryan will probably veto that idea, the clever fuck.


End file.
